


Family Quilting

by flinchflower



Series: Flashback [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:31:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 3: Site (present day). Ellen cleans up Sam after a wound on a hunt.  Warning for suggested discipline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Quilting

Dean casually leans on Sam’s shoulders. Well, not so casually. The claw slashes on Sam’s back are a bitch to clean out, he knows himself from prior experience just how much having that shit cleared of venom and bacteria hurts. Dad’s got his legs, leaning just as easily as Dean, only one of his hands wraps comfortingly around Sam’s ankle. John explained that to him the first time the kid had to be held down, age thirteen or thereabouts. _Touch him someplace he’s not expecting you to, Dean, he’ll focus on the touch that way._

Dean feels Sam’s shoulder muscles rippling, sees his thighs tensing, his hips rotating slightly as he fights the urge to writhe, knock Ellen away, delay the treatment. Her callused hand pauses, swats Sam’s butt, and Dean scowls at her, because the way Sam flinches, that stung. 

“Settle down there, Sam. I can’t see what I’m doing with you rolling around like that. You want me to get Bobby in here too?”

“No ma’am,” Sam mutters into the comforter.

John exchanges a look with Ellen that says all manner of things about kids never growing up, catches Dean’s scowl and shakes his head at his boy.

“Ok, Sam. Peroxide. Ready,” she asks, then tips the bottle over the wounds before he can reply. Sam thrashes as much as he can, and Dean feels sympathetic – Sam’s held still better than he had for his dad, when it happened to him a couple years back. 

The only thing keeping Dean from hollering at Ellen is her sympathetic expression, her gentleness as she pats the area dry with gauze, carefully applies the antibiotic ointment. Sam’s due to spend the rest of the evening on his belly, though for once it’s not because someone’s hand connected with his backside, teaching him a lesson. The wound needs to stay open, breathe, and they’ll only cover it over when it’s time for them all to get some sleep. 

Ellen turns back from the med kit, and only a warning look from John keeps Dean from groaning and tipping off Sam. Ellen’s quick, Dean had discovered, and it’s better this way.

He watches her, fascinated at the sight, because last time he’d been on the receiving end. He and Dad lean in hard, getting a better grip, and just as Sam’s voice, raw and tired, says “What?” Ellen’s hands flash, one sweeping the waistband of Sam’s boxers down to expose one cheek, the other swabbing and jamming a needle into the kid’s backside. Sam hollers.

“Hold still there, Sam.” She’d been ready for the motion, learned the trick of getting the needle in, then loosening her grip years ago, all the hunters that came by wounded. She hadn’t missed Dean shuddering when she drew up the measures of tetanus and antibiotic into the syringe, and she’s trying not to grin. John never hesitates, will take an injection without flinching or breaking stride in his conversation, but his boys are another matter. Dean tries to man it out, she knows, and it’s far more amusing than dealing with Sammy, who truly hates the damn needles, phobic after a couple bouts of pneumonia in the hospital. She eases the medication in, slides the needle out, swabbing the injection site again for good measure, and lets go of the worn elastic band of his boxers.

She puts the syringe up, walks back to Sam and runs a firm hand over his curls. 

“All over, Sam. You can show your face now, boy.”

“Not in the mood,” Sam mutters, as John and Dean finally let go of him and he stretches his shoulders. He swears to god he’s never gonna turn his back on another fucking creature, person, whatever until they’re salted and burned. It should’ve been down for good, even Dad said as much, and now he’s stuck recovering, won’t be there to watch their backs. The irony hits him then, and he snorts. He can feel Dean still sitting next to him on the bed, though John’s gone. He wouldn’t mind easing over a little, maybe he can manage it as he stretches out, tries moving a little as the Tylenol 3 kicks in finally, twenty minutes too late.

Sure enough, his shoulder brushes up against his older brother, and he sighs, hears a snort from Dean. The older boy doesn’t move, though.

“You better not come back in the same shape after you an’ Dad get the second one,” he tries.

Dean does laugh, this time. “Give it up, Sammy. You’re gonna be out cold in ten minutes, tops, and then manticore number two is a goner.”

“Watch out for the stinger, dumbass,” he says, and then wishes he hadn’t, because he’d been lucky to get claws and not the stinger. He hears Dean chuckle, and is glad his big brother can’t see how red his face is.

“And don’t think I can’t tell you’re blushing, either Sam, the back of your neck always turns color, too.”

Sam just reaches over, pulls a pillow over his head, feels Dean pat the pillow comfortingly. He’s starting to feel like shit, between the codeine, which he hates, and the venom, and the fever, and….

Dean snorts again when the first snore issues from underneath the pillow. He’s sliding off the bed, ready to head out and grab his Dad when Ellen’s whiskied voice stops him in his tracks.

“Your brother’s right. You be careful out there, don’t make me have to take you in hand too,” she says, snapping the medic kit closed.

He wonders, smack in the middle of his own blush, whether she heard her own double entendre there, thinking of the ass beating she’d given him, the couple of times she’d stitched him up. He mutters yes ma’am to her, fleeing for the more predictable comfort of his father. Hopefully they won’t haul back any more injuries, or Ellen’s gonna have herself a Winchester quilting bee, stitching them back together. His dad gives him an amused look, then puts a solid hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Sam’ll be fine here, Dean. Let’s go finish up, sooner finished, sooner back,” his father says, and Dean feels the weight lift from his shoulders, because Dad always knows how to do that, to get right to the point, get things taken care of. And he’ll make sure he wakes enough later to take a couple shifts, watching his kid brother. Because he worries too.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Sting - After The Rain Has Fallen


End file.
